The Ugly Ducking, Part II

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??

A Journey to the End of the World

We found ourselves in a strange place, deep within the mysterious Ozark Mountains.  A sacred place which has seemingly shut down for the winter, or perhaps has been abandoned?

This bizarre victorian-brutalist combo appeared to us as a Hollandsian-Hatherlian mash up. Our curiosity had been peaked. We pressed onward. 

 Was this a guard tower, or an observation deck? Or a monument to nature!?  No time to stop and find out. The Towne Centre was quickly approaching.

{continue reading...}

Never Eat Anything Bigger Than Your Head

Apologies for the lack of posts in January. We'll do out best to make up for it in February.  Our recent détournement-of-sorts to the American Southwest has generated many unexpected surprises - all of which have been well documented, yet are taking a bit of time to make sense of.  In the meantime,  a glimpse into the work of one of last century's most prolific cartoonists, Bernard "Hap" Kliban.

Figure 1. cover illustration, circa 1976*

At first glance, B. Kliban's cartoon drawings look childish and immature.  Decidedly low-brow, in fact.  Although upon further consideration, we come to two important conclusions. 

One: the author (despite presenting work that has the aesthetic of a bored high school student) has managed to get his work published and, in fact, has made a living off of it.  This observation alone is noteworthy for today's struggling architect.  

Two: the value of simple cartoon sketches in presenting a fundamental conceptual/spatial idea should not be underestimated.  All of the following drawings graphically construct a narrative in a universally understood manner.  In doing so, B. Kliban demonstrates the power of graphics in communicating a message to the observer/cultural consumer. 

Figure 2. high-tech failure

A good deal of Kliban's work involves the creation of ironic and paradoxical spatial constructs.  To put it simply, his scenes visually tell a joke.  But what is most compelling about Never Eat... is Kliban's commentary on the "sacredness", or monumentality, of architecture.  Cartoons are used to construct radically "anti"-monumental, or Non-umental spaces.  In fact, his most powerful illustrations are those which have quite visibly let down the people interacting with his creations...a depressed tourist here, a sad looking visitor there: 

Figures 3, 4, 5. Examples of Kliban's anti-climactic architectural monuments, or, "Non-uments." On a side note, his "Nixon Monument" looks strangely similar to a proposed George W. Bush monument.

Perhaps this is how humor is most easily achieved: by creating unexpectedly anti-climactic scenarios.  Kliban was a master at this.  After earning a living by making illustrations for Playboy in the 1960's, he went on to develop a series of images that, in a dystopian manner, full handedly mocked the images broadcast by "playboy".  Via Wikipedia:

The books that followed Cat [Kliban's most popular work] consisted mostly of extremely bizarre cartoons that find their humor in their utter strangeness and unlikeliness. Many of these are cartoons that Kliban drew for Playboy. They often contained dysmorphic drawings of nude figures in extremely unlikely environments, as if to spoof Playboy's own subject matter. Another frequent subject of satire were the type of wordless, step-by-step visual instruction manuals typically found with such things as office furniture. Kliban also had a recurring series of drawings called "Sheer Poetry", in which the page would be split into six panels, containing images of objects whose names, when spoken in the order presented, would form a rhyming, nonsensical verse.

Kliban's satirical take on everything from life's most ordinary moments to the most spectacular events establishes a body of work which is both whimsical and inspired.  What would happen if Kliban's illustrations were to be adopted as a set of instructions for the construction of a series of monuments to the his legacy? Would onlookers laugh? Or would they denounce the constructs as deviant appendages to the city?  Let's be honest: the health and welfare of the public would certainly be at risk with many of Kliban's ideas. 

Figures 6, 7. Radically experimental architecture juxtaposed within the ordinary city.

The ultimate question emerging in Kliban's architectural cartoons is this: will the legacy of radical architecture be confined to print media; remaining forever unbuilt?  How does the experimental artist-architect (conjuring up visions of rubber towers, "world's largest" monuments, and wobbly clown aesthetics) make a living?  Kliban did it by working for the institution, then mocking the institution.  Perhaps such low-brow, critically un-acclaimed ideas only come into being through rebellious acts of deviance by otherwise respected professionals?  An architecture of secretive and subversive conjectures.

*All images in this post have come from: Kliban, Bernard. Never Eat Anything Bigger Than Your Head & Other Drawings. New York: Workman Publishing Company, 1976.

Dueling Doors

dontknockitecture and myself have decorated the front door to my apartment to look like a door. Bet you can't guess which door is mine...

A Mobile Wedding Machine

Last night, Charles Gibson - sporting a wonderfully pink tie - introduced Americans to the idea of Mockitecture. The news segment featured Reverend Darrell Best's mobile wedding chapel, a fascinating vehicle part historic fire engine, part church. Lovingly named the Best Man, this "wedding machine" features stained glass windows and miniature pipe organs. The fire engine - with its functionally rough and rugged personality - has collided with the church, which in it's own right is rather good natured and mild mannered. The Best Man is satisfyingly eclectic and undoubtedly complex and contradictory. Such a provocative pairing of religion and emergency response does in fact elicit a few questions. The most pressing would be why a mobile church is not an imitation of Reverend Best's permanent church in Shelbyville, Illinois? After seeing images of the Best Wedding Chapel (shown below), I must admit I was quite disappointed by the fire truck version of the church. On the other hand, I was thrilled to discover the opportunities a sturdy truck frame can provide: the possibilities are endless! Ironically, since Rev. Best is the driver of the truck, he must outsource his own job to another ordained minister willing to engage in rather unconventional practice: marrying a couple at breakneck speed. As a result, the truck-church now curiously remains parked for weddings which takes most, if not all, of the excitement out of getting married in a vehicle. Happy couples are left to get married in parking lots rather than on the open road. Despite these (and I'm sure other) setbacks, I appreciate Reverend Best's radical ideas. Be sure to catch the 2 minute news segment on YouTube.

(image via Dan Cirucci and Best Wedding Chapel)

Residential Stronghold

Edith Macefield wouldn't sell her Seattle home, so the developers worked around it.
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Competition Update

Life Without Buildings is hosting a fabulous competition, where a "flagrant disregard for logic" is encouraged. Entries are due by March 20. [more...]

News Flash: Cartoonist Claims Suburbia Will Die!

Consider this a plug to all of our local fans and readers (I apologize to the rest of the eWorld)...Warning to those unfamiliar with the city of Cincinnati, Ohio: many references to local politics, locations, and landmarks. Reading between the lines will certainly reveal the crossroads American urbanism faces today...

My good friend Jim (Borgman) enjoys drawing cartoons. In fact, he is a Pulitzer Prize-winning political cartoonist for the Cincinnati Enquirer. His work can be found newspapers throughout the country and is even displayed in the White House. In the excerpt below (2002), he paints a very radical image of a Midwestern American city rebounding from it's more prosperous years of industrial growth. Watch out European cities...here we come:

"Suddenly everyone began streaming into the center city. Urban planners described it as the “donut-hole phenomenon”. The hotels filled to capacity as thousands of outsiders parked their SUVs and rode the Metro into the vibrancy of the urban maelstrom. “There was nothing left on the outer rings but stale crumbs,” explained a Downtown consultant."

Overnight, the inner city experienced a renaissance of retail, recreation and residency. Soon the lights were blinking out in shopping malls all around the beltway.

Strong-Mayor-For-Life Charlie Luken spent three days a week cutting ribbons at newly constructed high-rise homesteads, for which developers paid the city he fees for building rights. During much of the rest of the week, the mayor could be found on the Jack Nicklaus-designed Riverside Links – 18 holes of verdant perfection that hooked and sliced around the homes and businesses of the Banks.

Casino boats from Indiana steamed upriver, attempting to lure passengers on board at Cincinnati’s Public Landing with offers of free rides and chips. There were few takers. “Why bet on a long shot in Lawrenceburg when you’ve got a sure thing in Downtown Cincinnati?” asked one satisfied resident as she walked her Lhassa apso across the newly restored doggie green in Lytle Park.

Once the ordinance passed that prohibited automobiles from coming any closer in than the I-275 beltway, the skies cleared over the center city and D.C. (Downtown Cincinnati) became an international destination for health enthusiasts. “I come to bathe in the balm of the Ohio,” said a tourist from Tokyo, as he stood beneath the outstretched arms of the Genius of the Waters. The Hamilton County Sheriff’s Beach Patrol had to put on extra deputies during the warm weekends of summer when pilgrims seeking the rivers city’s reputed healing affects would line up for immersions along the Serpentine Wall.

Eventually the fortunate residents of Downtown began to complain at the injustice of having to pay subsidies to support the far-flung, fading suburbs. “I’m afraid to drive out there at night,” was one common complaint. “It’s eerily quiet and there are no lights to guide you but the stars and fireflies.” Others complained that the cost of maintaining miles of highways to far off points like Montgomery, Mason and Greater Deerfield Township, should be born by those who chose to live so far away from the comforting cluster of downtown humanity.

The City’s Motto: 'Why leave Downtown? Everything you could ever want is right here!' "